"I'll see to it," Mr. O'Ryan said.
Ivy inched toward Abraham and put her hand through the bars to clutch his hand. Numbness spread through her, and she tried to shut out what the master was saying.
"...at least a public whipping," the sheriff insisted. "You've got to set an example for—"
"I agree," O'Ryan said harshly. "That's what I intend to do."
"What?" the mistress asked. "Whip Abraham and Ivy? I told you that Papa never—"
"Leave this to me, Mrs. O'Ryan." The big Irishman glared at Abraham. "I'm taking you back to Gentleman's Folly, where the rest of our people can watch. One hundred lashes for you, and for your wife—"
"You don't need to whip her, Mr. O'Ryan," Abraham said.
"You give them licks to me. My back is strong enough to bear anything you can give."
"No! No!" Ivy cried. "I can take it. Please don't—"
"Have it your way," the master said softly. "One hundred and twenty-five strokes, and I'll deliver every one myself."
Chapter 17
"What are we going to do?" Anne repeated. She followed Michael up the grand staircase of Gentleman's Folly as the tall case clock on the landing was striking eleven. The hall was dark and shadowy; the only light came from a double candlestick on a table beside the clock.
Anne couldn't stop thinking about Abraham's face as the sheriff's men had shoved him, bound hand and foot, into the back of the wagon that would take him and Ivy home. As long as she'd known Abraham, she'd never seen such defiance in his eyes, or such sorrow.
She'd leaned close and asked him, "Why, Abraham? Didn't Papa always treat you well?" And the black man's bitter reply haunted her.
"Respect," he'd hissed, too low for anyone else to hear. "A horse gets good treatment. A man deserves respect." He'd not uttered another word to her or to Michael since.
"Anne. Careful!" Michael caught her as she slipped on the landing step.
"I feel so awful," she said to him. "I won't let anyone whip Abraham, and I didn't believe for a minute that you will, either. But if we don't punish the two of them severely—"
"If we don't, the authorities may come and do the dirty deed for us," he answered. He clasped her hand in his protectively.
"It's inhuman," Anne persisted. "A hundred and twenty-five strokes would kill Abraham."
"Whipping a man or woman is inhuman."
"I agree, and so would my father. He never permitted such a thing on Gentleman's Folly."
"I know that, Annie. You're both too good at heart for such evil."
"I can't get what Abraham said to me out of my head. He said that a man deserves respect. It's the same thing you said about slavery when you first came here. You're right, Michael. You're both right. I didn't want to believe I'd been so blind all my life—that my parents and all our friends had been blind." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "When Aunt Kessie left, it was like losing my mother all over again. Can you understand that? I never thought of her as a black person, only as someone I loved. But I could feel that way about her and not realize that our other people were just as human, just as deserving of—of respect and freedom."
He nodded. "Yes. But you're not the only one who couldn't see what was in front of his own eyes. I was wrong to judge you. It was simply that I felt so strongly about someone owning another that I made assumptions that weren't true. I came to Maryland with certain opinions about your family. I guess we both learned a valuable lesson."
"You were very—sure of yourself," she agreed, smiling up at him. "But what do we do now? How can we save Abraham and Ivy?"
He kissed the crown of her head. "I think that this is something you'd best leave to me." His eyes glittered in the circle of flickering candlelight. "Shout at me, Anne, loud enough for all the servants to hear."
"What?"
He smiled and put his finger to his lips and then bellowed.
"The subject is closed, woman. I mean to retire for the night, and I'll have no more of your nagging! Leave them to me, Anne. I'll do what needs to be done."
Puzzled, she stared at him.
He motioned to her. "Come, sweet," he whispered. "Yell something."
"But why?"
"Trust me. I'll do what needs be done. And if there's blame, it won't fall on you."
"I won't let you!" she shouted before dropping her voice. "Do what? Have you thought of a plan?" When he winked slyly, she snapped. "This is my home, not yours!"
"Excellent," he murmured into her ear. Then he cupped her chin and raised it so that his face was close to hers. "Whatever happens, don't lose faith," he said. "Trust me to do what's best for you and for Abraham and Ivy. Can you do that?"
"Tell me—"
He shook his head. "There are too many chances that it will all go wrong. I'll not have you accused of evading justice or trying to cheat your creditors." He kissed her tenderly, then released her.
"You forget your place, mistress!" he said harshly. "As the master of this house, I have the right to deal with runaways in any way I see fit." He took the last step and strode across the landing and down the hall toward the bedroom they shared.
"My opinions won't be ignored!" she answered, hurrying to keep up with him.
"As you wish." He pushed open the door to a guest chamber. "Feel free to sleep here, Mrs. O'Ryan. I will not force my unwelcome presence on you. It's been a long day, and doubtless tomorrow will be longer. I'm for my bed."
For a few seconds she stared at him, uncertain what game he was playing. "Michael?" she whispered.
"It's best this way," he said quietly. "Trust me." He strode away from her.
"You Irish bastard!"
He didn't look back.
The bedroom was dark except for a few rays of moonlight. She didn't need a lamp; she knew every inch of this house. Desolate, she sank onto a settee, steepled her fingers, and wondered what plot Michael was hatching now.
From the slave quarters came the haunting refrain of old Henry's drum, sounding a different message tonight, one of despair that Anne had never heard before.
Sweet hope of salvation, Michael is right, she thought. No matter what action she took regarding her escaped slaves, it would be wrong. She had to trust him. He was master here at Gentleman's Folly. She had given him that power over her. Now it remained to see what he would do with it.
Thoughts of Abraham and Ivy locked up in separate makeshift cells in the barn made her stomach turn over. Ivy had been terrified by Michael's threat to whip her husband, and neither she nor Michael had dared say otherwise.
A whine and light scratching at the door made her rise and let Shannon in. She knelt in the pale glow of the moon and cradled the squirming dog against her breast.
"What will he do?" she asked the pup. "What has he planned that's too dangerous for me to be a part of?"
The puppy snuggled close and licked Anne's neck and cheek. But for once, the animal's comic antics brought no smile to Anne's lips. All she could think of was the young black couple and their hopeless plight.
* * *
She awoke to a strangely silent morning. The sun was already high, but the house remained quiet. No footsteps sounded on the stairs, no giggles, no scrape of dishes. No familiar drumbeat heralded the plantation's traditional day of rest.
Stiff and slightly disoriented, Anne sat up in bed. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. She had fallen asleep fully clothed, and she felt out of sorts. It took her a moment to shake away the cobwebs and remember why she was here in this room instead of her own.
Shannon sprawled beside her on the quilt, gangly legs outstretched, soft white belly exposed, with large paws that seemed to grow bigger every day. Anne leaned over and placed a feather-light kiss on the dog's head.
Brown eyes snapped open. With eager barks, she launched herself into Anne's arms, twisting, licking, and wagging her shaggy tail.
"Not now," Anne cautioned, capturing the overgrown puppy and lowering her carefully to the floor. She got up and went
to the open window, looking out to see if anything was wrong.
Cows lowed and horses whinnied. In the garden, a lone chicken plucked at a grub, and a gray cat stalked beneath the rose bushes. Nothing seemed amiss.
She went to a window that overlooked the bay. There was nothing to see but wheeling seagulls, a dory bobbing at anchor, and the sparkling dance of an incoming tide.
Prickles of intuition teased at the base of Anne's skull. Had she overslept? Michael had told everyone that he would deliver the punishment after church services. Surely, it wasn't that late.
But what if he'd changed his mind? What if everyone was witnessing the lashing but her?
Snatching up her shoes, she raced to the room where O'Ryan had slept. The bed was empty, the blankets and coverlet smooth and undisturbed. A note lay on the pillow.
Anne,
I cannot explain what I must do. I only ask you to trust
me. If what we've shared means anything to you, you'll
understand this. I will be back soon.
Michael
Where had he gone? And why? Crumbling the letter in her fist, Anne hurried downstairs and into the dining room.
No breakfast waited on the table. No steaming tureens of porridge or pitchers of milk stood on the Irish hunt board. The house seemed utterly deserted.
Shannon's anxious yip reminded her that the pup needed to go out. She called to her, then opened the door into the empty kitchen. "Afua! Afi? Grace?" Puzzled, Anne let the dog out the back.
Puffs of smoke billowed from the summer kitchen, and Anne hurried to investigate. "What's going on?" she demanded as she peered over the bottom half of the Dutch door.
"Oh, Miss Anne!" A tearful Grace coughed and waved her apron at the smoking hearth. "I've been tryin' to cook your breakfast, but I burned the biscuits and—"
"Where is everyone?"
Grace's reddened eyes grew large in her freckled face. "You don't know? Mr. O'Ryan didn't say anything to you before he went?"
Two fat tears rolled down the serving girl's face. "He's gone. He took them all with him—took every slave on the place."
"You're saying that the master took Abraham and Ivy away?" Good, she thought. I hope he's taken them so far that no one will ever find them.
"All the slaves," Grace insisted. "On the big sloop. They sailed on the tide just after midnight. Toby went with them. He and Afua..." The girl's freckled face flushed. "Toby and Afua... they're you know... He don't care that he's a white man and she's black."
Anne had guessed that the two liked each other, but she hadn't thought that Toby cared so much for Afua that he would run away with her. But Toby wasn't important now. "You're telling me that my husband took all our people away without telling me?" she said to Grace.
"I reckon so, Miss Anne. Even Old Henry's gone. My brother Jasper, he was night-fishing, off the point. He saw the sloop in the moonlight, and he heard African drumming on the deck. It raised the hair on Jasper's head, it did. He said it sounded savage, like nothin' he'd ever heard, like maybe an Injun getting ready for war."
Anne turned away, unwilling for Grace to see the joy in her face. All of her people free. That was what Michael had planned. He'd whisked them all away to freedom. No wonder he hadn't wanted her to know.
Then she thought of the money that they'd won, the money she'd watched him put into Papa's cash box the night before. Fearful, she went into the library. Her hands trembled as she opened the cupboard and took down the metal container. She held her breath and lifted the lid.
The roll of greenbacks was missing.
* * *
"How long ago did he take the slaves?" George Whitfield sputtered.
"Three days," Anne replied calmly.
Mary sat down hard in the nearest chair. "Oh, Anne. You poor darling, to be so deceived."
Her sister and brother-in-law had arrived without warning on Tuesday afternoon on the mail boat out of Annapolis, accompanied by a dog, two maids, a nanny, two footmen, and George's personal servant. They had been at Gentleman's Folly less than an hour, and already caused such confusion that Anne wished Mary were back in Philadelphia and George marooned on the Sandwich Islands.
"You little fool," he sputtered. "What have you done about it?"
Other than pray Michael and her people had made it safely away? And wonder if she'd been completely taken in, first by Stephen and then by O'Ryan? Deceived by two men she'd thought she loved?
George regarded her with what could only be disgust. "Have you notified the authorities? Posted a reward for information?"
"To what end?" Anne's eyes narrowed. "Michael O'Ryan is master of this plantation. Legally—"
"He's a blackguard," Mary cried, breaking into sobs. "He has nothing. He's robbed you of a fortune."
"Your lowborn Irishman will sell your slaves on the nearest block and be gone with every cent." George waved his manicured hands to emphasize his point. "What did I tell you, Mary? Did I not forecast such dire consequences?"
Anne's sister blew her nose and nodded.
"It proves what I said all along," he continued. "No woman should be in charge of her own affairs. The plantation should have been left in my hands."
Anne bit back a hot retort. If George guessed that Michael had taken all her money as well, he'd have her committed as a madwoman. But she'd sooner be torn apart by white mules than betray her husband. Michael had promised her he'd be back. She had to believe that he would keep his word, that he'd taken the money because he needed it more than she did.
"She's ruined. First our dearest Papa and now this," Mary murmured.
Anne studied her sister's high-waisted, pale peach silk dress and matching spencer. Mary's fashionable attire was obviously French, and expensive, but it was overly tight at the bodice. Her unusually plump cheeks and marred complexion made Anne suspect that Mary was again with child.
"Are you well?" Anne asked, ignoring George's ongoing tirade. "You are expecting again, aren't you?"
"Anne Davis!" Mary's eyes widened in astonishment. "Not in front of the servants." A pink stain spread over her face. "Have you no thought for propriety?"
Not particularly, she thought, considering the situation she found herself in. "Mary." She smiled patiently. "Doubtless George and your maids already know that you are with child."
"Yes," her sister replied softly. "It's the reason that we didn't come right away when we received word of Papa's passing. George thought that I should not travel until my morning sickness had stopped. We're hoping so for a son and heir this time."
"No need to make excuses, Mary." He glared. "I'll not have you make a spectacle of my wife, sister," George sputtered. "We know what you did, you know. You couldn't keep such a secret. News is already spreading about your riding James's stallion in the race."
"You heard about that, did you?" Anne straightened her shoulders and smiled. "It was great fun. I'll have to tell you all about it. But I'm sure you are all tired from your journey. Grace will show you to your rooms. And if you will excuse me, I have chores that must be seen to." She smiled with less than genuine warmth. "I hope your maids can cook, Mary. Our Toby seems to have made himself scarce."
"Toby's gone, too?" Mary said. "Whatever will you do?"
"Find another or learn to cook myself, I suppose," Anne answered.
"You must hire someone, immediately," George said. "We can't make do without a proper—"
"Yes, it is a pity," Anne agreed. "Perhaps it might be better if you returned to your affairs and left Mary and the children here with me."
"Not likely," he snapped. "Without a man in the house, God knows what schemes you'd fall prey to. It is my duty to remain here and take charge until the plantation can be sold. Then you will, naturally, come back to Philadelphia with us. I'll make a place for you in our household. Margaret and Lucy will soon be too old for a nanny and will need a governess. You—"
"Will manage my own affairs without your help, George." Anger lent fire to her words. "I will n
ot be belittled or insulted in my own home. May I remind you that you are a guest here. And if you can't show me proper respect, you can catch the next boat north."
"Anne! You didn't mean that," Mary cried. "You can't talk to George like that. He's only—"
"Thinking of his own good, as usual." Anne flung her brother-in-law a defiant look. "Accept my hospitality as you find it or leave, dearest George. The choice is yours." Without waiting for an answer, Anne dismissed him with a curt nod and left the house.
A fool she might be for giving her heart to a handsome Irishman, but she'd not be cowed by the likes of George. She'd sooner live in a hut and crab for a living than accept a penny of his charity. Besides, Michael would be back soon. He'd find a way to deal with her overbearing brother-in-law.
Anne fingered the folded letter in her pocket, the now creased and tear-stained note her husband had left on her pillow. She knew the words by heart, but it helped to have it nearby so she could touch it when she felt anxious.
He has to return, she thought. Rogue or not, she was certain he loved her. But if he didn't come... If he didn't, she'd go after him. She'd track him to the ends of the earth and give him such a warm reception that the Devil's bake oven would seem cool in comparison.
* * *
Unaware of Anne's visitors, O'Ryan stood in the bow of the plantation sloop and gauged the size of the waves. The single-masted vessel lay low in the water, making it hard for Abraham to steer. Already half of the people were seasick and hanging over the rails.
The boat was sound, made for rough weather on the Chesapeake and an occasional dash up the coast to the Delaware Bay or down to Virginia or the Carolinas. But she was not built to carry so many. O'Ryan had known that taking every slave on Gentleman's Folly would be risky, but he was unwilling to leave any behind.
Abraham stood bare-chested at the wheel; his wife crouched close beside him. Neither Ivy nor Abraham showed any ill effects from the ocean swells, and both wore expressions of hope and continued disbelief.
Abraham had been suspicious when O'Ryan freed him from the tack room in the barn. His big frame had tensed, and O'Ryan sensed that he would explode into violence at the slightest provocation. But when he'd shared his plan with the craftsman, Abraham had moved swiftly and efficiently to locate every slave and get them on board the Wind Sprite in absolute silence. And once they'd cast off from the dock, it became evident that the black man knew more about sailing than O'Ryan did.
The Irish Rogue Page 19
